Happy Birthday, Tom
by The Atomic Cafe
Summary: Lord Voldemort celebrates his birthday the usual way. Post HBP. COMPLETE.


_**Happy Birthday, Tom**_

_**By Dimgwrthien**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own anything relating to Harry Potter or affiliates. Please do not sue.**_

_**Author's Notes: Death Eaters, as it turns out, are fun to write. Try it. Also, as a curious little question, which would you rather see from me: thirty one-shots or one novel-length? I'm curious.**_

The last day of the year ended with a shivering flow of snow falling on the old house. Lord Voldemort, born Tom Riddle, reclined in an old chair that smelt musky, staring at his long, white fingers. A wand sat between the fingers, innocently twirling, though his gaze did not rest on it long. Flakes of snow hit the window and melted from the warm glass, sliding down onto the sill, creating the illusion of rain.

Dusty floorboards creaked as someone entered the room and the sound of a palpable storm of dust rising at the feet of the person made Voldemort frown slightly. The house, old and rotting under their feet, belonged to his father, the filthy Muggle. The stench of his father and the family remained in the air, just as old as the house built by Muggle hands. He wanted to burn the entire place down to cleanse even the smallest area of the world of Muggles, but he knew that the plan would only bring about his downfall.

"My Lord," came the voice, confident and silky. Severus Snape, his spy. He had killed Albus Dumbledore only months before and brought Draco Malfoy with him, the groveling child. Lucius would be ashamed to see what his son became while he stayed in Azkaban.

"Yes, Severus?" he hissed. The window before him became white with snow that fell into the sill. The first snow of the year always dragged out the old filth. It was a pity his father had not been dragged out with that snow.

"Greyback would like to speak to you. I had him wait outside the door." Severus made a disdainful face. "Werewolves track in filth. Especially the ones who know the monster I spent a year with." Severus hated all werewolves with a sick passion. Lord Voldemort full-heartedly agreed, but at least he respected that they were useful on the full moons.

Lord Voldemort waved a hand impassively, allowing Severus to nod, turning away to open the doors again. The scent of Muggles was wiped out with Lord Voldemort's favorite: blood and agony. It made Greyback the perfect leader for the werewolves. He knew the proper way to deal with people: give them what they deserve. He must have bitten a hundred people in his life, half of whom died, and each one deserved their fate.

Severus remained at the doors, arms crossed, waiting impatiently for Greyback to finish. For once, Lord Voldemort could be sure Severus could not bring any information to Dumbledore.

"You're to keep your promise," Greyback growled once he saw Voldemort. The man, possibly in his fifties or sixties, did not retain anything of the Wizarding blood in his family. Taking only a moment to muse on it, Lord Voldemort guessed that the werewolf blood outweighed everything else, taking away the slow aging process he would have gotten, as with magical abilities. "We haven't gotten a mission in several months. They're -"

A waste of a birthday, of course. Lord Voldemort snapped his arm back down, moving his gaze to the werewolf. "'They'? Am I to understand that, for once, you are no longer thinking of only yourself?"

Greyback stared him down for a moment but backed down soon enough. Apparently, no one could be more of an alpha than Voldemort. It reeked off his sour personality like mildew.

"We demand something or we leave," he said shortly, voice rasping around the words, choking them into something with more malice than needed.

Every day, Greyback would manage to find something new to complain about. It had been that way for years, but with the newfound discovery of Voldemort after his rebirth, it became annoying.

"_Crucio_," Voldemort said lazily, waving his wand. The sound of pain filled the air, though with no screams. He knew Greyback to be too used to agony to really see the pleasure in the charm.

Now what would happen if the charm were used twice at once? Lord Voldemort missed out on years of what could have been the best years of discovery. Now was time to start them.

He picked up the wand next to him on the chair, an extra one they had Ollivander make for him. The wand was the exact same as his first one, though with a different phoenix feather. Lord Voldemort considered having the feather replaced with a human heart. Holding it in his opposite hand, the Dark Lord cast the spell once more.

Sudden silence. Voldemort watched Greyback with interest and saw that he stopped moving. A sudden movement in the corner of his eye and the sound of a door opening and closing told him that Severus left the room in a hurry. Standing, he peered over the body, looking at what Severus saw.

Blood poured from the werewolf's mouth in impossibly large doses. At his stomach was a rip in the skin, stretching through the muscle, showing the lungs and stomach inside the body. The face remained in a look of shock and disbelief. Did the werewolf really expect anything better from him?

At least the blood cleared away the dust, the Dark Lord mused, looking at the body in morbid fascination.

Lord Voldemort had seen worse in his first days.

It was his birthday, damn it. And yet, there was nothing to satisfy him. No Muggles to torture, no Mudbloods to rip, nothing. He was not even allowed the pleasure of killing Dumbledore, the old fool. Staying in hiding only ruined it.

And so, Lord Voldemort finally decided to make his choice, to leave hiding and return to what he had done fifteen years ago on that cold winter night.

_Happy birthday, Tom Riddle._

No.

_Happy birthday, Lord Voldemort._


End file.
